Batman: Match Made in Hell
by iammemyself
Summary: The best games are the ones where everyone wins.


'Match Made in Hell'

Characters: Riddler, Scarecrow

Synopsis: The best games are the ones where everyone wins.

"Edward, we're in the clear. Let's just go."

"Just a moment," Edward told him. He was in the process of removing a card from his jacket pocket to leave inside the safe he and Jonathan had recently liberated of a good quantity of unmarked bills. Edward didn't need the money, but Jonathan was perpetually broke and Edward was not particularly busy when Jonathan asked for his help. Most of the time, Edward would ignore such requests, especially if there wasn't really anything in it for him, but he and Jonathan had an… understanding. And part of that understanding was that, in times of need, one would follow through for the other, as long as it wasn't interrupting anything. And as Edward had been doing nothing but chewing on black licorice while playing Go online at the time, he had headed out to meet Jonathan when he'd called. The venture had sounded extremely low-risk – just a small-time robbery of a significant amount of untraceable money – so he had decided the benefit of Jonathan's trust and the fact that he would owe Edward one were sound rewards.

"Edward. The police will be arriving presently. If you don't hurry I am leaving without you."

"Not in my car you're not."

Jonathan sighed through his nose and thumbed the strap of the bag of money slung over one bony shoulder. He was quite capable of stealing Edward's car, of course, but Edward was the better driver of the two. Neither of them were the ideal height to drive; however, Edward fit better in the seat than Jonathan did. "Leave your little love note and let's _go_."

"It is _not_ a love note." He straightened his blazer and moved ahead of Jonathan, hitching the second duffel of bills over his shoulder as he did so, in order to lead him out of the dim interior of the institution. Edward had disabled the alarm system before they'd arrived, but the bank was still dark with only the barest emergency lighting by which to see. Jonathan, with his poor vision and restrictive burlap mask, was flying mostly blind. Another reason Edward suspected he had been invited along for this. He took Jonathan's forearm lightly in his left hand and pulled him just enough to let him know where they were going.

Edward once again in his mind congratulated himself on his decision to build himself electronic glasses. It had been a tremendous pain in the ass – there were an incredible number of small parts in them even he had had trouble putting together and the first few builds had been… glitchy – but the countless hours he'd invested into them were well worth it at times like this.

He crouched down outside their exit some minutes later and squinted out into the doorway, looking closely for movement. If he was not mistaken – and he rarely was – the police had already arrived, and more quietly than usual.

"What is the holdup?" Jonathan hissed.

"GCPD," Edward whispered. "There's at least two officers over there."

"Only two?"

"That I can see."

Jonathan's hand gripped his left shoulder suddenly. When Edward looked to see why, he found the man's unmasked face next to his. Not that he could see anything even so.

Edward removed the glasses from his breast pocket and pressed them into Jonathan's free hand.

"Where did – "

"I brought them. Thought it was the _smart_ thing to do."

"It's hardly intelligent to bring equipment I can neither use nor carry."

"It's okay, Jon," Edward said, perhaps a little too sweetly. "I'll take care of you."

"Never say that to me again."

They watched the doorway silently for a few minutes. Edward wasn't sure if Jonathan could see it or not, but Edward counted at least six different officers preparing to enter the bank. The two of them would have to make a run for it while the officers crept along the walls, squinting into the dark. For some reason they weren't using their flashlights.

"They must be waiting until someone is able to turn the lights on," Jonathan whispered.

Edward stared at him.

They would be going _nowhere_ if that happened.

He had to force himself to stay calm. He was infuriated that he hadn't realised that was what the officers were doing. He should have _thought_ of that! And he was trying to redirect his mind but _why hadn't he thought of that –_

Jonathan's hand readjusted on his shoulder. It brought him back to reality a little.

"Let's focus on this right now," Jonathan murmured.

This was the one thing that bothered him about their 'team-ups', as the newspaper put it: Jonathan became increasingly able to read him with every interaction.

The ability was not mutual.

"I hope your sprinting has improved," Edward muttered, "because walking out of here is no longer an option."

"It hasn't, but we'll make do."

Edward stood up against the wall, Jonathan just about pressed into his back. He didn't like this plan, didn't like it at all, but what options did they have? None. They had to run through a squad of armed police and hope nothing went amiss. Something would. Something always did. One of them would trip or an officer would turn at the last moment or –

The lights blared.

Edward bit his tongue against the flare in his glasses and took Jonathan's arm with force. A break for it, then. "We're going," he said through gritted teeth. He didn't wait to see if Jonathan would answer before releasing his arm and sprinting for the door.

It was a good hundred metres between them and the door, and Edward had the energy for about seventy of them. He stumbled out the door of the bank with a jarring ache in his chest and glanced to see if Jonathan was still with him. He was, a little behind; Jonathan's strides were of course longer, but his stamina was considerably lower than even Edward's. The two of them were more brains than brawn.

That was something Edward liked about Jonathan.

"Stop! GCPD! Hands up, on the ground or we will shoot you!"

"You'll try," Jonathan murmured breathlessly, and Edward almost laughed. The GCPD weren't very good shots and didn't seem to know or care. "I hope your car is faster than a police cruiser, Edward."

It wasn't, but it all depended on _how_ the car was driven. And where.

Inside of two more minutes of running they had reached the car, parked on a side street a block from the bank, and they each opened their respective doors and tossed their duffels into the backseat before belting themselves in. Blunt force trauma due to improperly observed vehicle safety procedures was not the way Edward wanted to go out.

Gunshots rang behind them as Edward twisted the key in the ignition, afterward slamming down on the brake pedal and shifting into reverse. Jonathan was glowering out the windshield as Edward twisted to look out the back window, bracing himself against Jonathan's seat.

"I told you to park the car the other way."

"Shut up." Yes, he should have, but Jonathan had _told_ him to. That _automatically_ meant he couldn't do it.

"If your stubborn ass gets us back in Arkham you will not stop regretting it."

Edward liberally applied his foot to the gas pedal, spinning the steering wheel with the heel of his free hand. "I already regret liberating _your_ stubborn ass."

Once the car was in the pertinent direction Edward grasped the wheel properly, hard, and headed down the pothole-marked street. The strobing of the police lights behind them lit the interior of the car and put Edward's stomach on edge. He was not going back to Arkham. But he should have listened. They would have saved time. Time he wouldn't have to spend now trying to shut out the wailing of the police sirens as he searched for the turnoff leading to the highway.

"No you don't," Jonathan said. "Who else would you take on heists, if not for me?"

"This is _your_ heist."

"I have to say all evidence points to it being yours."

As Edward cleared the on-ramp and accelerated for the merge he ran through the evidence in his head: electrical systems disabled, no signs of forced entry, no injuries sustained... the riddle...

He had a sudden, uncomfortable impression that he was Jonathan's fall guy.

"You're not my fall guy," Jonathan went on, which he must have read from whatever expression Edward was making. He was very good at that. Very, frustratingly good. "All the reasons I gave you for your assistance were true. It's just a thought that amuses me."

"I see," Edward muttered, brow set. He reached over and flicked on the police scanner without taking his eyes from the road.

The two of them listened to the chatter wordlessly. It seemed that the first officer to take after them in a cruiser had lost them two blocks from the on-ramp. They were discussing which direction they were likely heading - in an approximately six-block radius from the bank - and Edward was able to take a full breath. He wasn't going back there. They had purposely picked an establishment far from where they had settled down for the moment. They had escaped unscathed.

"Excellent," said Jonathan.

When Edward looked at him his face held only the usual polite annoyance, though when Jonathan's glance met his Edward thought there was a shade of... satisfaction. Approval, maybe. It was only a second. It wasn't enough to really say anything.

"Are you sure you want me to take you back to your place?" Edward asked, having deeply disagreed with this idea when it first came about and still of the same mind about it now. "I still think it's too close to the crime scene."

"It is."

Edward's brows came down. "So why -"

"Because you're amusing when disagreed with. Yes, I'm staying with you tonight."

Edward had to force himself to stop biting his lip. Jonathan's uncanny knowledge of him was... unsettling.

"But you knew that already," Jonathan went on, "and went to the trouble of clearing any and all secret projects into your bedroom and making up the couch even though you know I'm not going to be using it."

"Let me guess, you know where I live, too," Edward muttered bitterly, and Jonathan almost laughed.

"Finding people who don't want to be found is not one of my specialties, I'm afraid."

Well, _that_ was a relief. Though for all his considerable reasoning skill, Jonathan didn't seem to be getting the hint. Edward's end of their 'understanding' was not merely his being a wonderful and benevolent friend, though he was that as well of course. No, to some extent it was because the man was on Edward's mind very, very often. In such a way that Edward had been trying to come up with an excuse for him to stay at Edward's apartment for a while now. Not to the extent of ridiculousness, obviously, but to the point where he had been suggesting Jonathan carry out his plans across town so that in the event he _did_ end up at Edward's, no one would notice. Edward was beginning to lose heart. He wasn't a fan of risking capture repeatedly for no return. And it was looking like he wasn't going to get that return. Oh, he wasn't owed it, of course, he wasn't going to be _entitled_ about this, and yet… well, he'd thought them a good match. Perhaps Jonathan just wasn't good at picking up on these sorts of clues, which was entirely too bad. Edward did have the option of just coming out and asking, but if the answer was not the one he wanted he didn't want to hear it. He wasn't going to put himself in that position, oh no. Jonathan was going to solve the mystery or that was going to be the end of it.

He was almost _fuming_ at Jonathan's wilful obtuseness by the time he arrived in the lot of his apartment building. So much so that he had half a mind to get rid of the man altogether. But he couldn't, because the other half of his mind was convinced Jonathan _had_ looked at him with approval, which was for some reason had his stomach up in hopeful knots. Christ, this was why he did his best not to get into these things. Maybe it was time to swear Jonathan off altogether.

"You have to return this car to where you got it, right?" Jonathan spoke up, for the first time in a while. Edward nodded and silenced the engine.

"I'll take you up first." He opened his door and stepped out, straightening his suit jacket as he did so. The Tailor had assured him many times that driving wouldn't cause his clothes to wrinkle, but he still thought they might anyway.

"I can handle it myself," Jonathan told him. "You live on the seventh floor, the room nearest the stairs?"

"Yes," Edward said, trying to unclench his teeth. He yanked open the trunk and pulled out the duffle bags, setting them onto the dirt-strewn asphalt. No doubt Jonathan would track this all over his apartment.

"A smart choice, for a man who wishes his comings and goings to be as invisible as possible," Jonathan remarked, shouldering one of the bags, "but a predictable one for anyone who knows him."

How in the _hell_ did he do it? How in the damned world did he know everything _except_ the one thing Edward _wanted_ him to know? He'd about had it.

Edward could blame only temporary insanity for what he did next, which was to throw aside the handle of the bag he'd been about to lift, slam the trunk closed as hard as possible, and pulled Jonathan's head down so he could kiss that insufferable jerk and get it over with so he could stop _thinking about it_.

Only the thought that Jonathan had not resisted in the slightest brought Edward back to himself, and he stood there for a good handful of seconds trying to think of an explanation for that most spontaneous and ridiculous action. All he ended up doing was taking a breath and declaring, "Didn't predict _that_ , did you!"

"I was beginning to believe it in the realm of wishful thinking, but yes," Jonathan said, without looking at him.

Edward pressed his forehead into the trunk of the car and tried very hard to keep from screaming in frustration. That was _not fair._ It was _not fair at all and_ –

Wait.

He turned his head enough to pick out Jonathan's silhouette in the darkness and asked, "You _knew_ this whole time?"

"No," Jonathan said, sliding a thumb under the handle of the bag, probably to keep it from cutting into his shoulder. "I thought _you_ knew."

"Knew _what_?"

"Edward, why _else_ did you think I invited you to all those petty robberies? If it was solely _money_ I was after I would have just asked you to cheat the stocks for me." He sighed and pressed his fingers into his forehead. "I was beginning to think you'd _never_ get the hint."

All of those heists had been… _dates_? It was so bizarre and yet it made _so much sense_.

"Look at us," Edward mumbled into the car, having moved his head to face the metal again. "It's like we're teenagers. Caught up in a communication mishap because neither of us used our words."

Jonathan's laugh was very soft. "I expect nothing less than incomprehensibly complicated games from you."

"But you foresee my every move! That's not complicated, that's _predictable!_ "

"It's a rare source of stability in a world such as this."

Jonathan considered him a… a point of peace. A place to breathe. Predictable, yes, but… reassuring. He liked the sound of that enough that he was able to stand up straight and look at the other. Mostly. He still could not figure out where that lapse in control had come from.

"We've… been here too long," Edward mumbled, fishing his keys out of his pocket. He removed the pair pertinent and pressed them into Jonathan's palm. "I'll meet you up there in ten minutes. And don't lock me out."

"Very well," Jonathan said, and as Edward climbed into the car again he caught Jonathan's eyes in the rearview mirror. He nodded for some reason Edward didn't know, but it still put him at ease, somehow. As if it were a signal Jonathan would still be there when he returned.

Jonathan was only able to carry one of the bags at a time, and put the first behind a plant marking the entrance of the building; when he came back for the second Edward rolled down the passenger side window and called out, "Jonathan!"

Jonathan leaned over enough to look through it, which required a considerable amount of bending on his part. He was braced with one hand on the hood of the car. "Yes."

"My bed's a lot roomier than the couch."

Jonathan's smile actually reached his eyes. Edward didn't think he'd ever seen such a thing before. It was… rewarding. Like all of this ridiculous trouble had been worth it. What was he thinking, of _course_ it was.

"And considerably more welcome too, I'm sure. See you in a bit."

Exactly what he'd wanted to hear. Edward smiled to himself and drove off. He was certainly feeling much better, to know they'd gotten that sorted out. He liked his games, to be sure, but every game had to have an end and that one had been past its prime.

To think! They'd both been playing the same game at the same time! Without either of them knowing! Ah, what a wonderful match they made.


End file.
